Mystery Socks

A week ago Saturday, when I poked my head out the door to get the mail, I saw a package sitting on my doorstep. All of my Christmas purchases and people have been accounted for, so my first thought was that it was a mis-delivered item; a something intended to land with one of my neighbors.

I picked it up, and peered at the address label. Nope, it was addressed to me. Puzzled, a little excited inside because I love surprise presents, I took the bag in the house and slit it open.

Inside, I found three lovely pairs of alpaca wool socks. In my size. (My feet are a little longer than the average bear's, and one-size-fits-most often doesn't.) Clearly, whoever sent the gift knows me and my weakness for soft wool. Pleased, I looked inside the bag for the shipping slip which would tell me who had sent such a lovely surprise.

There was nothing in the bag but the socks.

The return address label was no help, it just showed the address of the shipper.

I called the first four most likely suspects. No, they hadn't sent me anything.

Still puzzled, I left the socks on the table for a few days. I smiled every time I walked by. Here I had visible proof that somebody loves me. I figured someone would contact me to see if their package had arrived, but, crickets.

I eventually took the socks upstairs and happily wore them, their warmth and softness providing an all-day hug for my toes.

A week later, I've still not heard anything from anyone about the gift. ???? 

I thought about contacting the company to see if they'd tell me who placed the order, but thought better of it. Once upon a time, I'm pretty sure they'd have been happy to assist, but in this age of scams and bots, such requests are out of line. 

I'll admit, I like the mystery; the not knowing who was so kind. It leaves an aura of love hovering in the room.

But. If whoever sent the socks thinks I know they sent them, they might be wondering if perhaps I have lost track of my manners. I hate to appear to be an ungrateful wretch.

If the person who sent the sock happens to read this, please know I am most grateful for your gift.

(It just now occurs to me I COULD contact the company and ask if they usually include a shipping receipt, and it was just left out of my box. I will do this later today.)

I am saddened, horrified, angered, and frightened by what I've read in the news this week. Is this really happening here? In my country?

The socks have provided much-needed counterbalance.

Good Is. Anyways.

Fire Drill

Shortly before my alarm would have gotten me out of bed last Tuesday morning, the house fire alarm went off. (I have four interconnected hardwired detectors.)

I was kinda-sorta awake, but groggy, and stumbled into the hallway to silence the detector there. It took a minute, but I got it to quit screaming. The other units were still sounding off, so I continued on my search for silence, downstairs to the dining room, and pressed the button to silence that unit. The basement unit was still sounding its warning and I started on down, then stopped myself. 

What if there was actually a fire? If I started down the basement stairs and smelled smoke, what was the plan? I was in my PJs, barefoot, no phone, no glasses. Had I noticed it was winter outside? Did I perhaps want to go back upstairs, put on my glasses and a robe, and grab my phone?

I did perhaps want to do so.

After properly outfitting myself, I went down to the basement to silence that alarm. It was the one which had tripped the system, so I spent some time checking the furnace and water heater, sniffing suspiciously for traces of smoke. 

No smoke odors detected, I took a quick turn out to the garage to make sure I hadn't missed something out there. Everything looked good. The alarms remained silent, and after one more trip to check the basement, I decided it had most probably definitely been a false alarm. 

I headed back to bed for another precious fifteen minutes of snuggling in the warmth of my blankets. As I lay there, wide awake, I mentally reviewed the past few minutes and realized what an idiot I'd been. My smoke alarms have never triggered because of an actual fire, and I've come to view them as a necessary nuisance.

If there had been an actual fire, I wouldn't have had time to go back upstairs once I'd gone down. I'd have been out on the curb, barefoot, cold, practically blind, and without means to call for help. And, in this scenario, the dog was dead. No way he'd come downstairs with all that scary noise going on.

I've grown rather attached to the dog, so took this as a warning. I now have a mental evacuation plan.

Next time the detectors go off, I will pick up my phone first thing. (That IS why it lives next to the bed - in case of emergency! Duh!) There will be a leash nearby and I can grab Sylvester as I pass by him on my way to retrieve my glasses, slippers and robe.

Only then will I (in the absence of obvious smoke) silence detectors and investigate the cause of the alarm. The reluctant dog will be in tow.

I'm sheepishly rather grateful for the test. Better to fail now, when the only harm was to my pride. 

Talk about a wake-up call!

Turning Within

I want to be a tree.

I want to be able to shed my leaves, withdraw to my inner core, trust the outer world to take care of itself for a bit, and sleep until the longer warmer days of spring cause me to stir.

Morning has been a hard sell these past few weeks. "Are you SURE I have to get up? It's still dark out. And, it's cold. Did you notice it's cold out there? Tell me again why I need to stir?"

The national news hasn't helped. We've done WHAT? To WHO? And WHY???? Really????

I've gotten more practice than I'd like at holding conflicting truths.

I am afraid. The national news is dark, still and again. And. Outside my window there is beauty, and the trees are calling to me. Both are true.

I like walking around in the winter, looking at the bare branches of the trees. Without their covering of leaves, I can more easily see their squiggles and turns. I note the bare spots where branches have been lost. I marvel at the way they grow up and around the scars. I wonder how some of them can still be alive, their cores partially hollowed out by time.

Sometimes, I stop to lean against one of their trunks. Even in the winter, I swear I can feel the sap moving. Slowly, with deliberation, but moving. "Rest", the tree tells me. "This season is for rest, for turning inwards." 

I've been listening.

I spent some time last week with a series of questions guiding a reflection around the events of the year just past. List ten good things that happened, five bad. Three game changers, three areas where I spent my time, three things I forgot to do.

I've done the meditation the past several years running - the answers to the questions framing my experiences of the year just past help me form a vision of how I hope to spend my time in the coming year. What can I change so I will have the time to do those things I had wanted to do, but didn't get around to doing? Is it 'just' lack of time holding me back, or am I avoiding the thing because something something? Or did something unexpected, like, say, recurring cancer, upset the whole apple cart?

The meditation helps refocus my energies. Time is the currency of my days. Am I spending my minutes today - this day, the only day I have - the way I want them spent? When I climb into bed and look back at my day, will I be able to say, "Yes! I lived this day well."? 

I hope, this year, I will often be able to say, "yes". 

Acupuncture

I've been dealing with neuropathy in my toes and the balls of my feet since my first bout of cancer fourteen years ago. Over time the problem eased. The pins and needles went away, I slowly started to regain feeling.

Last year, a few months after I started back on an aromatase inhibitor - the drug I need to take for the next umpteen years to try to keep my cancer at bay (again) - I started losing ground in my toes. The nerves started buzzing, and my big toes, which had been spared in round one, started to go numb.

*sigh*

Such a "choice". To lose my sense of balance because I can't feel the ground beneath my toes, or to give my cancer a good shot at returning. I didn't care for either option, though I continued on the drug because if I'm dead, I'm pretty sure my sense of balance becomes a moot point.

My oncologist suggested I try acupuncture, to see if it might help.

I figured it definitely wouldn't hurt. I asked around, found a doctor not far away, and started seeing him back in November. When I first saw him, he sat me down, sighed at my messed up shoulders, and asked what brought me in. When he heard, he shook his head sadly and told me he MIGHT be able to help, but neuropathy is a tough one to fix. 

He put me on the table and started sticking needles here and there in my lower calves and feet. (Most of the needles don't really hurt, and if they do, the pain eases after about 30 seconds.) He put heaters over me to keep me warm, and left the room, telling me to nap. When he came back thirty minutes later, he asked which foot was worse, then after taking out the existing needles, used a fresh one to lightly prick the toes on that foot. It ouched a little - but given the neuropathy, I didn't feel much.

I went home and to bed with the nerves in my feet buzzing, not sure what had hit them. When I woke up the next morning, I leaned down and tested the feeling in my toes. 

Huh. The left - the one he'd pricked - definitely had a wee bit more sensation than the right. ???!!!??? I felt a stirring of hope. Maybe I wouldn't have to choose after all. Maybe he could stop the progression of damage.

I've seen him quite a bit since then - twice a week for three weeks, then once a week for the last five.

Just before Christmas I woke up one morning, got dressed, sat down to put on my socks, and felt an odd sensation beneath my toes. It was my socks! For the first time in a decade, I could feel my socks touching my toes!

For the past few weeks, I have taken a moment to stop every now and then to check in. Sure enough, every time (so far), my socks have been touching my toes. (The nerves are still buzzy; I think they're confused about what's going on.) 

I wasn't sure I believed in the power of acupuncture to help. I am most relieved to know its power to help did not rely on my level of belief.

Since the aromatase inhibitor will continue to try to mess up my nerves, I do hope the power of the needles will continue to push back against the damage. It might not, but... For now, it's working. 

The ability to feel my toes touching the ground is a lovely Christmas gift.

Good Is.